


A Fresh Start

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: love_bingo, unrequited Daryl/Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's never told a soul how he feels. But it's best not to underestimate Carol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fresh Start

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Three. Written for LJ's love_bingo community for a photo prompt of a wedding topper.
> 
> * * *

It's just the courtyard at the back of the prison, but they've done their best to fix it up nice. Found balloons to blow up and string from one wall to the other, made streamers out of packing labels and homemade dye. One of the Woodburians is a preacher, got ordained from one of those churches that advertise in the back of the skin mags, but Maggie and Glenn decide to stand up in front of Hershel instead. They just pledge their vows to the old man, and he's happy enough to pronounce his daughter married in the sight of God. Daryl figures God doesn't mind. He's probably got other things on His mind, anyhow.

The music plays soft and low, so as not to attract too many walkers. But it don't look like Glenn and Maggie care; don't look like they even hear the music at all. They take a turn and then another around the cleared space they're calling the dance floor, clutching each other tight, lost in their own little world. 

Glenn looks at Maggie like she's his everything.

* * *

_"Stop moonin' over the damn gook," Merle says. "You're embarrassin' yourself."_

_Daryl jerks at the voice at his ear, looks quickly away from Glenn to see Merle leaning back against the old truck, one of their dwindling stock of beer held loosely in his grip. A better look shows him that it ain't the first one Merle's had since they rose at sunup. He swallows dryly, nods toward the beer and hopes he can change the subject. "Ain't you had enough? Said we was gonna make 'em last."_

_Merle just sneers and drains the dregs from the bottle in his hand, lets it drop to the ground before reaching blindly behind him into the trunk bed to grab another._

_"Ain't ya seen the way he looks at Blondie, over there?" Merle says, 'cause he ain't never one to let shit drop, especially when he's got a belly full of Bud. He juts his chin toward one of the sisters that rolled into camp a couple of days ago. "The chinaman don't swing your way, little brother."_

_"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Daryl bites out._

_He busies himself with gathering up his supplies, tries to ignore it when Merle just barks out a laugh that's loud enough to make several of the other survivors glance their way. He doesn't want to look up to see if Glenn is one of them looking, doesn't want to see if there's any curiousity in his eyes. He don't want to look at the damn kid at all, ever – except he just can't seem to help himself._

_"No?" Merle says, finally, when Daryl's got his supplies packed up and ready to go, when he's starting to think he might be able to make a clean escape. "'Cause that gook been sniffin' around the blonde bitch like a dog in heat."_

_"You gotta keep flappin' your gums? Said I don't give a shit who the boy looks at!"_

_"So I'm just imaginin' things, then. Is that what you're sayin', little brother? You ain't got no interest in the boy for yourself." Daryl's crouched by the log, concentrating very hard on making sure he's got enough arrows for the hunt, lining them up carefully one by one. But he still sees Merle push off from the truck, swagger across to the little fire they've got burning outside their tent. "You ain't layin' there in your bedroll at night, pullin' the pud and thinkin' about his tight little ass?"_

_"I ain't no fag," Daryl hisses quickly, hotly. Denies it like he has ever since he was twelve years old and knew exactly what Merle and their pa would do if they found out he liked men. Denies it same as he did when Merle caught him pining after Derek Riley back in tenth grade, or that college boy working summers at the gas station when he was twenty-two. He's denied it so much over the years that he's found he half-believes the lie himself… or did, until him and Merle left the hunting cabin and found the quarry, and other survivors, and Glenn._

_"Well fine, then," Merle says after another long pause, during which Daryl ignores the sweat dripping down his brow that has nothing to do with the morning heat, forces his hands to keep moving over the arrows, smoothing back the fletching over and over. "Guess I was wrong."_

_"Guess you were," Daryl snaps back, standing abruptly. He hitches the crossbow onto his back, grasps the strap with one hand. The weight against his spine is comforting, the worn leather strap warm in his grasp, worn smooth by years of clutching it the same way he is now. He wants nothing more than to be in the woods with the bow in his hands, where the only thing he's got to worry about is a damn walker._

_"Fine," Merle says, spreading his hands wide. The beer bottle tips to one side, but he doesn't even look down when the liquid cascades onto his fist. "Forget everything I just said."_

_"Already done," Daryl says. And when Merle says nothing, he takes a breath and turns his back on his brother. Strides quickly toward the tree line, toward the cool expanse of the woods and the silence and the simplicity of the hunt. Ignores the old man with the stupid hat trying to wave him down, ignores the woman who quickly snatches her daughter away from his path. Ignores everything… except Merle's voice, drifting back from the camp._

_"'Cause I was gonna keep a special eye on him for ya," Merle calls out, "on that supply run. Guess I don't have to do that no more."_

_Daryl's stride falters, his sure feet stumbling over a loose root in the soil. He knows that Merle deliberately didn't tell him about his plans to join the scavenging party in Atlanta. Merle has been into the beer and god knows what else, and the entire raiding party is made up of people Merle hates on principle, and Glenn… Glenn's supposed to be in charge._

_And it's too late for him to do anything about it._

_He straightens his shoulders, looks behind him. "You gonna keep jawin'? Got a damn deer to track!"_

_Even from the distance, he can see Merle's mocking grin. "Happy huntin', little brother."_

* * *

Daryl shakes his head, pushes the memory aside and forces himself to look away from the dancing couple. Don't help none to know that Merle was right, that Glenn don't like men. That don't make the ache in his chest for the boy go away, don't make his bunk any less lonely come nightfall. He looks out over the barricades, tries to concentrate on the walkers congregating by the south wall. But after a moment his eyes are drawn back to Glenn and Maggie, watching them smile at each other as they twirl on the cracked cement.

"Beautiful couple," Carol says at his shoulder.

Daryl grunts, side-glances her as she eyes the dance floor. While his attention was diverted Glenn and Maggie had been joined by Rick and Michonne, unsurprisingly graceful as she moves in Rick's arms. Daryl frowns, watching Carol's gaze flick between the two couples. He shuffles in place, wonders if he's supposed to pull Carol onto the floor, if she'd come to stand at his side expecting him to ask. He hasn't danced since Mary Louise Henderson dragged him onto the dance floor at a Sunday social when he was no more than thirteen, and he was as awkward as a cat in high heels. And the last thing he needs is to encourage whatever crazy thoughts Carol gets in her damn head. He crosses his arms at his chest, scowls across the yard.

"Never expected this to happen when we went to the farm," Carol says. "We start to expect the worst in this life. But sometimes, this world surprises us."

Daryl knows all about expecting the worst – usually 'cause that's what he gets. But he keeps his mouth shut, keeps his eyes on the far-off fence line.

"Sometimes," Carol says slowly, "it can open up an opportunity that you never expected."

Daryl holds his breath, lets it out in a long, slow slide before he turns toward her and meets her eyes. She's smiling at him, and the cool breeze coming in from the north catches at the curls in her hair. The sight makes him realize just how much she's changed from the mousy, scared little thing he first met over a year ago. He knew from the start that she had it in her to be strong – everybody does, if you let them be. 

He also knew she was sparkin' for him. Ain't gotta be a genius to figure it out, the way she likes to tease him. But he never did nothing to encourage it, except be her friend. Maybe he should have told her to stop, long before it got to this point. 

But he's never had a friend before. 

He kind of likes it. 

If he loses her now, it'll hurt. But he can't keep letting her think that things will be different between them; can't keep letting her believe that the two of them have a future. 

"Carol—" he starts.

She shakes her head, places calloused hands on his cheeks. And turns his face toward a small group gathered around the punchbowl in the corner of the yard. Beth and Karen, laughing over something that Hershel is saying. Sasha holding a smiling Judith in her arms. And Tyrese, deep in conversation with another couple of the Woodbury newbies, Rebecca and Kyle. Kyle looks up and meets his eyes quickly before ducking his head and returning his attention to Tyrese.

It's hard to tell at this distance, but Daryl would almost swear the dude sees him watching… and blushes.

He feels his eyes widen as he turns back to Carol. 

He tried to keep his distance from all of Carol's flirting, but he ain't never come right out and told her. He's never told nobody, though he always thought that Rick and T had figured it out. Guess he underestimated Carol. 

"Opportunities," she says again. She cocks her head. "That is, if you're brave enough to take them."

Daryl swallows, glances back at Kyle. Sure enough, the guy is looking at him again; jerks away when he sees him looking back. 

Daryl squints, studying him in the light. Tall and thin, sandy blond hair. Couldn't be more different from Glenn if he tried. And he seems nice enough, from the little that Daryl's talked to him during the past few weeks – mostly about setting watch schedules and organizing patrols. Heard from the gossip mill that Kyle only got to Woodbury about a week before the shit hit the fan. He couldn't have known what the damn Governor was up to. 

Daryl looks back at the dance floor. The music has ended, the little fuel that they'd allocated for the generator today all used up, but Glenn and Maggie don't seem to notice. They sway in each other's arms, ignorant to anything but each other, secure in the knowledge that their friends will keep them safe on this day. He makes himself look away before the dull ache starts again in his chest. Studies Kyle in the waning light, instead, and thinks about being alone. About living a lie for the rest of his whole damn life. About how his family – his new family, his real family – accepts him for who he is. 

He takes a breath, then another. 

He can do this. 

But it takes Carol's palm, warm and firm on the small of his back, to get him moving toward the punchbowl.


End file.
